


The Violent Tenderness, The Sweetest Silence

by bigbidumbass



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Character Death, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25888765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass
Summary: The day the world ended was the day that Will learned the difference between living and surviving.AKA, an apocalypse fic with Blakefield.There's honestly not a ton of violence, but I tagged it just to be safe! Happy reading!
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is probably one of my most ambitious ideas, and there were several times I honestly thought that I would never finish it. Luckily, I have the most fantastic group of friends who pushed me to keep going.  
> This is for Alex, Betsy, Pavel, Maisy, Wally, Emma, Spencer, and everyone else in the Second Devons who encouraged me when I'd hit the lowest of lows. I adore you more than words can say.

The day the world ended was the day that Will learned the difference between living and surviving.

It had come on so small at first—the first wave of the disease had been much milder, much slower spreading. No one had taken it seriously. Will remembered that he had been laughed at for staying home when he’d had a bit of a fever.

Luckily, it had only been the flu, but by the time he’d recovered, life had gone to shit. 

Others had waited it out—not Will. He’d gotten out as soon as he could. Found that the world had changed, found that certain measures were necessary. Did things he hadn’t ever wanted to do. Not living. Surviving.

But he’d found Lauri. They’d met in a photography class, and had become fast friends—finding her alive and well had been a relief, to say the least. She was full of life, even at the end of the world, and she filled Will with a bit of that life as well. He trusted her completely, slept better when she was there, and thought that maybe they could get through the shitshow, as long as they were together. She was like a sister to him.

The problem was that Lauri wanted to go back to the city to try to find Eleanor, her wife. They spent nights arguing over it—Will knew it was dangerous, that cities were more crowded, that hunters were likely to be there, even leftover walkers, but Lauri didn’t care. If it was dangerous for them, it was dangerous for Eleanor, and Lauri wanted to get her out and get her out _now._

Eventually, Will gave in. Not because he felt any better about it, but because he knew Lauri, and he knew she’d go alone if it came to that. Will would rather die than send her in there alone.

When they got to the city, they found it deserted. The entire thing was eerie, and Will couldn’t help but feel that that part of town was _wrong_ somehow, almost demented. He could tell that Lauri felt the same, but she was too stubborn to admit it. 

They camped out in a safe house for the night, taking shifts to sleep. The next morning, Lauri led the way to the last place she’d heard Eleanor had been—an old office building, a couple of stories high. It looked like it had been near one of the bombings, and the structural integrity was likely to be damaged. Will _really_ did not want to go in there.

“Lauri,” he started. “Are you sure?”

“This is where she said to meet her if I ever came back,” Lauri insisted. “And if she’s not there, then she’ll have left me a note telling me where to go.”

She looked over, seeing Will’s expression. “Look, you don’t have to come in. Go around and I’ll meet you on the other side.”

Will rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so. I’m coming with you.”

“Fine,” she said, leading the way in. It was sturdier than Will thought, thankfully. But empty.

“Maybe a floor up?” Will asked. Lauri nodded, and he cautiously headed up the stairs, Lauri close behind him. A note lay on a table there, along with some nearby supplies. Lauri opened it eagerly, her expression immediately going relaxed. 

“What does it say?” he asked. 

She smiled, her eyes going over it. “It’s coded,” she said, nearly laughing with relief. “But from what I can tell, she’s okay. She left an address, I think.” 

Will relaxed as well, shooting her a soft smile. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m going to check for more supplies.”

She nodded, starting to decipher the message. “Don’t go too far,” she said. There were only a couple rooms on the floor—he decided to check both. The first was empty, completely. Will only needed to glance inside to know that it had been stripped down. The second one had a few things, but as soon as he took a few steps in, he felt the floor shift underneath him. One second he was standing on solid ground, and the next he was on his back, a floor down, gasping for breath. The floor had given out. So much for _‘sturdier than he’d thought.’_

“Will!” he heard Lauri call down to him. “Will! Oh my god, are you alright?”

He took a moment to catch his breath—the wind had been knocked out of him in the fall. 

“I’m here!” he managed, coughing, “The floor gave out.” 

He sat up gingerly. Sore, but not too damaged.

“Are you hurt?” Lauri asked.

Will got to his feet, trembling from the shock. “I’m okay, I think,” he replied.

“You bastard, you fucking scared me!” she called. “Don’t ever do that again!”

He laughed, clutching his ribs. They ached, but not enough to be broken. 

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” he huffed. His gun was on the ground, and thankfully the safety had been on. He picked it up, ignoring the cry of protest in his ribs—it seemed to be fine. Lauri, meanwhile, was looking down at him, trying to see. 

“Did anything fall on you?” he asked. She turned her arm towards him, a deep gash in it. 

“My arm,” she said. “Hurts like a bitch. You’ll have to bandage it up when we’re out of here.”

“Alright. And how do we get me out of here?” he asked.

“I’m coming down the stairs!” she called. Will looked over at the door, which was covered in rubble. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “Lauri, the way in is blocked. You can’t get through.”

“Well, now what?” she asked. Will looked around—there was a small corridor, most likely a way out. 

“Listen, go back out the way we came in,” he instructed. “I’ll meet you on the other side of the building, it looks like there’s a way through.”

“I don’t like that,” she said. 

“Well, we don’t have much of a choice,” Will replied. “Just do it! If I’m not there in twenty minutes, meet me at the safehouse!”

“Fine, but you better fucking be there!” Lauri threatened.

Will waited for her to go before he started on. The corridor was dark, but he didn't dare waste his flashlight batteries. What was worse, was he could hear the building rumbling above him. His ankle was hurting, too. He continued down the path, limping. 

And then, there was a deafening crash from above, and the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Will awoke to darkness. His head hurt like hell, his left arm was screaming, and for a second, he couldn’t remember where he was. Then he realized. Eleanor. Lauri. The building. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, trying to sit up. He was hit with a wave of vertigo, and he gently set his head back down. _Fuck._ Part of the building must have come down on top of him—his head had obviously been hurt, and his arm. He’d gone unconscious—God, for how long? _How long?_

A wave of panic hit him, and he struggled to calm himself, to put together a plan. He sat up slower this time, and it was a little better. He was still dizzy, but he at least didn’t feel like he was going to throw up now. His legs were underneath dust and rubble, and it took some digging and a good amount of effort to get them out. His left arm was unusable—Will was pretty sure it was broken. 

When he stood, his left ankle cried out. Not broken, but hurt. This time, Will blindly reached behind him for his bag, feeling around for his gun and his flashlight, both of which seemed to be intact. And there was a way through, thank God. It was narrow, and Will had to do some digging, but it was still a path out. The more he walked on his ankle, the better it felt, which was a good sign. His arm, however… he didn’t have much hope for a quick recovery—every time he moved it, there was a fresh sweep of agony. And his head was still foggy, a bit better than it had been, but he drew blood when he touched it. 

The corridor did lead out to a fire escape, thankfully, which Will carefully climbed down. But Lauri was nowhere in sight, which could only have meant that he’d been in there for at least twenty minutes. The sun hurt his eyes, despite the clouds and the fact that it was setting—it only made his head ache even more. He needed to sit down.

He picked a curb and sat, going through his supplies. Everything was intact, though perhaps a bit dusty. His right hand had various cuts from the digging he’d done, and most of his fingernails had been torn off. His head was no longer bleeding. Meanwhile, his left arm looked swollen, a distorted lump on his forearm that mixed in with some bruising. Almost definitely broken. He flexed his fingers and had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out. _Shit,_ he thought. He’d need to splint it. 

First, Will guzzled down some of his water bottle, feeling thirstier than he’d ever been in his life. He didn’t have the supplies for a splint with him, only some gauze, rubbing alcohol, and a few painkillers—stronger stuff was at the safehouse. For the splint, he made do with some wood that he found on the road, bits of gauze and an old muddy t-shirt he’d found to hold it together. 

It was better now, but he still had to find Lauri. However, there was a minor complication in that: he had no idea where he was. Lauri was the one who’d known where they were going, and even if Will’s head hadn’t been muddled from the injury, he doubted he could have easily found his way back to the mall or the safehouse. It was getting dark. 

Will cursed to himself and looked around, trying to remember where they had been. Eventually, he picked a path and wandered down it, looking for anything that might have indicated familiarity. Nothing. All of the buildings looked so strange, so foreign to him. He turned around and went the other way, only to discover the same thing. He was starting to panic. His stomach turned, and he leaned over and spat out bile, coughing up everything he’d eaten earlier.

The sun was barely giving off any light, and he finally decided to find somewhere safe to sleep. It was a while before he found a suitable place, but he eventually found a small building with an office in the back. He barricaded the office door with a chair and laid on the floor, ignoring how cold it was.

It took him six days to find the safe house. The first couple of days were the worst—his head was weak, his arm constantly in pain, and he was completely lost. He spent most of his time searching for food and water, worried that he’d run out. He tried a couple of different paths, but his head was so fuzzy that he didn’t dare go far from the building. 

Then, on the third day, he chose a path and went down it, leaving small marks for himself to find a way back if it turned out to be the wrong way. Which, it did. He found himself in front of a courtroom that he recognized, but in the wrong way—it meant that he’d completely gone the wrong direction, and it was dark by the time he’d realized. He had to camp out in a building next to it, then go back the way he’d come the next day. 

By the time he made it back to where he’d started, he didn’t make much progress in the other direction. And then, thankfully, things had begun to look familiar. 

He had to hide when a group of hunters had come through, which had lost him more time. When he awoke, they were not long gone—he heard the screams of some poor traveller who’d been found. Will tried to ignore that and headed for the safe house, but it was empty. There were signs that Lauri had recently been there, and he assumed that she’d most likely gone out to look for him. He headed back out, trying to find her, deciding to look at a place they’d stopped at once, a place he thought she might have gone to look for him. But when he arrived, the sight made his blood run cold. 

As it turned out, the zombies weren’t the monsters—people were. Lauri was on the ground, bleeding out, a wound in her abdomen. He took one look at it and knew it was too late to help her, but he tried anyway, frantically pulling gauze out of his bag. 

“No, no, no,” he breathed desperately, “Oh God, Lauri, no.” Pressing the dressings onto the wound, he made a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. 

“Will,” she said weakly. God, her face was pale. “You’re alive. I knew it.” She smiled, but it easily could have been mistaken for a grimace. 

“You’re going to be okay,” Will insisted, biting back tears. Panic and dread were eating him alive, his arm was screaming, but he pushed through it, keeping the pressure on the wound.

She gripped his hand. “No, I’m not, Will,” she breathed faintly. “I’m dying, and you can’t stop it.”

Will shook his head, his voice choking up. “No,” he managed. “Lauri, I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

“You’re strong. You can,” she said. “It’ll all be okay.”

“God, Lauri, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, if I’d only-”

“Stop. Stop now,” she commanded, and he went silent. She squeezed his hand, face scrunching into intensity.

“Will. You listen to me, and you listen well,” she ordered. “This is not your fault, and it’s no one’s fault but the man who put the knife in my stomach, do you understand?”

Will nodded, and she went on: “Eleanor… she headed up to Avallon. I…” she trailed off, her breaths starting to shudder. 

“I’ll find her,” Will promised.

“You’ll find her,” Lauri repeated, giving his hand a final squeeze. Will held her as she went still.


	3. Chapter 3

He buried Lauri in a field of lilacs. They were her favourite. 

Will couldn’t eat, not for days. He could barely stand to look at her things. Then he realized if he died because he couldn’t be bothered to eat, Lauri would have been angry beyond belief. Her death would have been in vain. That got him to move, got him to bathe and get situated. He had no idea where Avallon was, but he knew it was up North. He’d have to make a plan if he was to go up there. 

The city was dangerous, but he couldn’t find it in him to leave Lauri just yet, so he instead stayed, trying to find any word of Avallon that he could. Nothing.

Every night, the nightmares came, and every night, he couldn’t save her. He mostly looked for food, for medical supplies.

A couple of weeks after she had gone, Will fell into a routine. Wake up. Eat. Go to town and look for supplies, for hints of the camp. He followed that routine now. The pharmacy at an abandoned mall had a medical cabinet that he’d been struggling to break open for a few days, and he tried it again to no avail. 

As he finished up, a sound came down the way, and Will froze, his rifle at the ready. Most of the dead had faded away now, their rotting flesh unable to keep them moving, but there were still hunters and some newly turned that lurked—Will wasn’t about to take his chances.

But it wasn’t a walker, it was a human, and not a hunter either. A boy, who couldn’t have been much younger than Will. He was looking down at what seemed to be some sort of map while he walked, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he looked up and saw Will.

They stared at each other for a moment—Will still pointing his gun, the boy not moving. Will half-expected the boy to run, or pull a gun, but he didn’t. He just stared, silently, his face full of horror. Will finally found his voice.

“Drop your bag and up against the wall,” he ordered. The boy immediately obeyed, laying down the map and his bag on top of it, then facing the wall.

Will didn’t know what to do now. If it had been anyone else, he would have run—he wasn’t the type to steal, especially not from someone so seemingly harmless. Will decided to search him, to make sure he wouldn’t be shot if he decided to walk away. 

“Weapons?” he asked, drawing nearer.

“No,” the boy replied.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Will said. “I don’t believe for one second that you’re out here with no protection.”

“I—I had a knife, but it broke,” the boy said, fear bleeding its way into his words. He was trembling violently, and Will felt a pang in his chest at that—he felt Lauri next to him as if she were there, he heard her voice. He knew what she would have said, knew that she would have either let the boy go or invited him to join them, had she been there. Will snapped himself out of it. Lauri _wasn’t_ here—she was buried and gone, and Will was the one dealing with this now.

Will searched him, and as the boy said, he had nothing on him. Even his bag was mostly empty—a bottle of water, a flashlight, a pair of mittens. A name tag with the word “Blake,” on it. Presumably the boy’s name. No food. No weapons. 

Will set it back down and looked back up at the boy. _Jesus,_ Will thought, _he wasn’t going to survive long_. Not without something to protect himself, not out here in the city with hunters lurking about. _That’s not your business,_ Will reminded himself. It wasn’t his job to worry about strangers.

“I’m going now,” he announced. The boy flinched at his words as if he hadn’t quite processed what was said. Will took a step back, his eyes fixed on Blake’s every move.

“If you make _any_ move to come after me, I will shoot you without hesitation,” Will told him.

“Okay,” Blake replied, voice shaking. Will ignored the guilt that gave him, ignored Lauri’s voice in his head, and ignored the tears that threatened to come. He walked away, got out of there as fast as he could.

Once he was out, once he was in the light, he cried. It was a stupid thing to do—he didn’t even know this boy. Why should he care what happened to him? But the reasoning didn’t stop the sobs from wracking his body. 

He allowed himself ten minutes, or at least what he assumed was ten minutes, to compose himself. He swallowed down his grief, he swallowed down his guilt, he ignored the way he was trembling. But when he got up, something became crystal clear—if Will left now, that boy would haunt him forever. Just like Lauri. 

But what could he do? Will had too much pride and distrust in him to ask Blake to stay with him, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure the boy would come. 

Ultimately, he decided to camp out in the woods for the night instead of going back to his shelter. If he was nearby, he could at least make sure that Blake would survive the night. Will sat in the woods at the edge of the tunnel, concealing himself. And it wasn’t long before the boy came out, shivering. 

Will realised that the stranger didn't have a jacket, and he couldn't stop himself from letting out a huff of air. Jesus, he was going to freeze to death if he didn’t find something, and soon. And what was he doing in the city?

He carefully trailed Blake, who eventually set up a campsite near the edge of the woods, not too far from the city. It wasn’t the worst place, and Will had seen worse options, but there was still much to be desired. The boy was smart not to light a fire, it’d draw too much attention, but as for the rest of the situation, he was hopeless. He was mostly out in the open, and he had no defences. What the hell was he thinking?

Will watched over the boy as he fell asleep. Fast, much faster than Will ever had. Frankly, Will couldn’t remember a time that he’d ever knocked out so quickly, much less in an apocalypse. And he certainly wasn’t sleeping well now—every night, he was on edge, ready to run, or fight, or hide. The boy was so obviously naive just from the way he slept, the way he did things. He wasn’t meant to trudge through this shithole of a world, he wasn’t meant to worry about being shot by strangers, or whether or not he had enough food, or whether he’d freeze as he slept. A boy like that didn’t deserve the shit life he’d been given, but he was going to have to learn to survive. 

Will leaned back against the tree and watched Blake.

It was a few hours later, when Will was lingering on the verge of sleep, that he heard a noise and started. Someone was near, coming towards Blake’s camp. 

“Fuck,” Will muttered, snapping to his feet, his hand at his knife—guns would be too loud, draw the hunters to them, and that was the last thing they needed.

He was there as fast as he could, trying to see what was happening—Blake had gotten a deep gash in his arm, the man attacking him had a knife to his throat, and Will didn’t hesitate before dragging the bastard off of him. The man slashed up at him, and Will dodged the attack and stepped back, driving his own knife into the man’s throat. 

There was a terrible gurgling noise as the man gasped for air that wouldn’t come. His hands had moved up to the blade in his throat, but it was much too late for him to do anything. Will watched him slump over, trying to numb down the guilt he felt. He whirled around to Blake, who looked terrified. Jesus, the cut in his arm needed to be treated, and soon, to prevent infection and more blood loss—but Will’s supplies would be back at the safehouse. He’d need to take him there. Luckily, they weren’t far.

“What were you thinking?” he hissed to Blake as if he were scolding a child. He grabbed the boy’s unharmed arm, yanking him back towards the direction of the safehouse. “Sleeping out in the open like that? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Let me go!” Blake cried, struggling against his grip. He was fighting against Will’s pull, which startled Will a bit. 

“Stop! I’m trying to help you!” Will said, but his words fell upon deaf ears as Blake fought against him, even going so far as to scratch at him. Will wondered if Blake was in shock, but he couldn’t afford to leave him in the woods, not with that deep of a wound.

“Fuck! Stop that, calm down!” Will yelled.

The boy froze, not at his words, but because his eyes had locked upon the bracelet on Will’s wrist. The bracelet Lauri had made for him, the bracelet that Lauri made for all of her friends, different colours for different people. Will’s was a mixture of soft orange and yellow.

“That’s—wait, that’s from Lauri!” Blake said, and Will froze as well, trying to figure out how on earth the boy would have known her.

“What?” he said, because he couldn’t think of how else to respond. The boy’s face lit up in excitement, and he was ecstatically tugging on Will’s coat as he looked up at him.

“Oh my God, you know Lauri?” Blake asked him. “Your bracelet—you must be Will! Is she alright? I was so worried after she left, and didn't come back, but if you’re here looking after me, then she _must_ be alright! Where is she?”

Will blinked in shock. “What do you mean, when she left? How do you know her?” he asked.

“I met her a few weeks back, she was looking for you!” Blake said, “She left me in a safe house and told me to stay put, but then she never came back, and I thought something might have happened. Where is she? Did she get hurt?”

The whole conversation stung to hear, and the sight of a light blue and pink bracelet on the boy's wrist filled Will with bitterness, bitterness that he couldn’t stop from escaping him. Blake was clinging to him, but Will pulled himself out of the boy’s grip.

“She’s dead,” he snapped bluntly, unable to soften the blow. “She died two weeks ago.”

Blake’s face immediately dropped into grief, his chattiness instantly dying down as tears filled his eyes. Will took the opportunity to grab the boy’s unharmed arm again and lead him to the safehouse, and Blake allowed himself to be led, looking quite numb. Will almost shared a sort of sympathy for him, at the loss of a light like Lauri. 

Blake was silent the entire time Will nursed his wounds, even when Will started giving sutures. He flinched a bit but said nothing, which Will hadn’t expected. When he finished up, he realised that Blake hadn’t moved in ages.

“There,” Will said. “Now it won’t bleed, and it won’t be at risk of infection.”

Blake didn’t reply, just looked up at Will with those deceivingly innocent blue eyes. Looking into them, Will could nearly forget about the apocalypse. But not quite. Not quite.

“What happened to her?” Blake asked softly. 

Will’s jaw clenched, and he had to take a deep breath to avoid snapping at the boy again.

“Hunters. They stabbed her,” he replied, struggling to keep his voice even. 

Blake didn’t ask any more questions after that. He just laid down on the floor, turned over on his side, and slipped his backpack under his head. Will could hear soft sniffles—Blake was crying. He didn’t know what to say or do, so he followed Blake’s lead and laid on the floor. There was a bed, but Will knew he wouldn’t be using it.

“You can take the bed,” he told Blake, but the boy just shook his head. Will wondered if Blake was crazy, knowing that it must have been ages since he’d had slept on a real mattress.

“Listen, just take it,” Will told him, and Blake quickly sat up, breathing heavily. Will could read the tension in his shoulders, the slight stomping of his feet as he walked over to the bed and plopped down. He was angry. 

_Probably at me,_ Will thought. That was fair. He pushed the thoughts aside and closed his eyes. He couldn’t fall asleep, not with the earlier adrenaline, but it turned out that Blake could. He didn’t snore, the usual giveaway that someone had dozed off, but Will could see him relax, his breaths steadying. 

Lauri had known him. Lauri had seen the naive, defenceless boy on the streets just the same as Will had, and taken him in. Talked to Blake about him. She’d even made the boy a bracelet. 

Will brushed the thoughts from his mind—thinking about it would only make the situation worse. Eventually, his breathing slowed down, and he sat on the verge of sleep until the sun rose. 

When it was light outside, Scho sat up, rolled the discomfort of sleeping on the floor out of his shoulders, and started packing up. In a start, he remembered about Avallon, and he cursed softly to himself. How the hell was he supposed to get up there when he had Blake with him? And he couldn’t exactly leave him here—it would be a cruel repeat of what had happened to him with Lauri if Will left and didn’t come back. 

No, Will would have to figure something out. But for now, he wanted to get that medical cabinet at the mall open, and then he could think about trying to find Eleanor. He briefly wondered how Blake had come across Lauri, if he’d maybe been with a group. He had to have been, there was no other way that he could have made it this far.

 _I had a knife, but it broke,_ the boy had said. Had he been in a fight?

He heard Blake stir behind him, and whirled around, on sheer compulsion. The boy’s hair was tousled, sleep still written into him with drowsy eyes and slow movements. When he met Schofield’s eyes, he stared a moment before he looked away. Scho wondered what that meant, but didn’t ponder much on it. Why would it matter?

“Morning,” the boy greeted him hesitantly. 

“Morning,” Scho repeated. The casual nature of the conversation was foreign to him, and the word came off his tongue with an extrinsic tone. 

Blake noticed the bag on Will’s shoulders, and he stood. “Are we going out?” he asked.

“Yes. We need supplies,” Will told him. “We’ll go back to the mall.”

“The city doesn’t have much,” the boy replied, “Why are we going back there?”

“It does if you know where to look,” Will told him. “Eat breakfast, you’ll need your strength.”

“Oh,” Blake said softly, “You have food?”

Will turned to look at him in surprise, remembering that the boy hadn’t had food on him. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked.

The boy thought for a moment. “I—Four days,” he said, obviously trying to conceal that his voice was trembling. Will softened immediately, reaching into the cabinet and grabbing the two cans of food that remained. He placed them in front of the boy, who swallowed hard at the sight.

“You’re sure?” Blake confirmed.

“Yes. Eat,” Will said, handing a knife to the boy so he could open it. Blake hesitantly picked it up, holding it in his clenched hand as he stared down at it, and Will knew what he was thinking. The man who’d attacked him. The knife that’d gone through his throat. 

Will could see it now, clear as day. He knew the boy could too. Blake was frozen, and Will didn’t know what to do—he was terrible at comfort, so he settled for reaching out his arm to cautiously place it on the boy’s shoulder. But Blake flinched away from his touch, blinking out of his trance. Will took a step back and watched him open the can, hands shaking as he did.

He could tell that Blake was trying to start out slowly, but within a few seconds he’d given in and was ravenously scarfing it down. Will knew that feeling of desperate hunger more than he’d like to, the feeling of caring less about the taste of the food, and more about ending that gnawing, excruciating emptiness inside. 

He wished he had more to offer, as a couple of cans of fruit weren’t going to do much, but he’d only planned out enough for himself. the rest of the food he’d saved up was at the main hideout he and Lauri had been in. Will hadn’t gone back since she’d died, he hadn’t dared to. Even just thinking about it had Schofield trembling. But, maybe if he wasn’t alone while doing it, it wouldn’t be as bad.

Blake finished up, dropping the can back to the floor, sighing in relief. He looked up at Will, a newfound sort of contentment in his eyes. The euphoria of a full stomach, Will supposed. Every time he imagined the poor thing going without food for four days, he felt pity in his stomach. Will himself had only gone for three days at the most, and he’d felt as if he was going insane on that. He couldn’t imagine four.

Will knew Lauri had told him not to blame himself for what happened, but there were still moments where he couldn’t help but think if he’d just been a bit faster… and now, the boy—if Will had been faster, if he’d made it there sooner, Blake wouldn’t have gone without food either.

“I’m Tom, by the way,” the boy said, stirring Will out of his thoughts. “I thought you should probably know that if we’re going to stick with each other.”

 _Oh,_ Will thought, confused. “I—the name tag in your bag, it said Blake. It’s not yours?” he asked.

The boy’s expression shifted and went a bit darker. “My last name,” he said. “Tom Blake. Well, Thomas, but no one calls me that except my Mum, or— ” He halted suddenly. “She used to call me that.”

Will didn’t need to question further to know what that meant. He couldn’t stand to think about his own parents—he supposed he’d never know what had happened to them. He realised Tom was looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Will said quickly, and the boy gave a slight shake of his head, _not the answer he’d been looking for._

“Lauri, she told me she was looking for someone named Will, her friend. That’s you, right?” Tom confirmed. “You’re Will?”

“Yes,” Will said, tensing at the mention of Lauri’s name. He wished the boy would stop talking about her. “Will, or William, or Schofield, whatever you want to call me.”

The boy thought a minute, a smile slowly drifting onto his face. “I could call you Scho,” he said, the smile turned into a full grin.

Will didn’t know what to say to that—it didn’t seem necessary, not when Will was already a perfectly good nickname, but at the same time why did it matter? 

“Alright,” Will said, wanting to change the subject, “Scho if you want. We should be going.”

“Oh, right,” Tom said, quickly grabbing the knife and standing up. He held it out for Will to take it back, but he shook his head.

“Keep it. You’ll need it,” Will told him. The boy looked almost surprised, but Will didn’t take the time to wonder why. 

“Follow my lead,” he told Tom, “Do as I say.”

The boy gave a confirmative nod, and Will was glad that he at least didn’t seem to be too reckless or stubborn, from what he could tell. 

He started off on the path, slinging his rifle off his shoulder and holding it at the ready.

“Do you have to have that pointed?” Tom asked.

Will looked back at him. “If hunters come, I might not have time to swing it off my shoulders and load it. Would you rather me put it away?”

“No,” Tom said, “It’s fine.”

There was a beat of silence between them, and Will was very certain that the boy didn’t like him much.

“You and Lauri, how’d you meet?” Tom questioned out of the blue, and Will halted in front of him so abruptly that Blake crashed into him. _Couldn’t Tom drop it?_

Will turned to look him in the eye, breathing heavily.

“Don’t,” Will spat, “Don’t talk about her like that, as if she’s still here. She’s gone.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why? She would have wanted us to talk about her,” he said defiantly, not backing down from Will’s gaze. Will realised he’d been wrong about the boy not being stubborn, and he briefly wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

Taking a step closer into Tom, Will stared him down. “You didn’t know her,” he said simply. 

The boy scoffed. “Look, I may not have known her long, but I did know her!” he exclaimed, “And better than you, apparently, if you think she’d just want us to leave her in the ground unspoken like some ugly secret. She was a person, and she was real! She was here!”

Will was feeling as though he might lose control, and he turned away, but Blake continued on:

“Listen, if you think I’m just going to go on as if I’d never met her-“

“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up, won’t you!” Will snapped, whirling around on him again with some sort of crazed grief, the kind he hadn’t let himself feel since he’d watched Lauri die. “Just leave it be! I’ve known her for years, _years_! You knew her for a week, who are you to talk about her! You think you know what it was like to lose her? You don’t! You don’t know!”

He cut himself off as tears approached, quickly turning away from Tom and continuing towards the mall. If he didn’t, he knew he would break down, and he was not planning on doing that in front of Blake. After a couple of seconds, he heard Tom’s footsteps start up from behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Tom told him guiltily, “I only meant that… we should remember her.”

“I do remember her,” Will said, throat tight. “Every day.”

There was silence after that, aside from Tom’s breathing beside him, struggling to keep up with Will’s swift pace.

“Will, look, I know you’re angry with me,” Tom breathed after a bit, “But could you slow down a bit? We’re practically running.”

Will slowed down a little, his hands subconsciously tightening on his rifle as the city came into view. 

“Stay close to me,” Will told Tom, “No matter what happens. Stay close.”

“Yes,” Tom agreed, but the city was quite empty. Will found his way back to the pharmacy, and with Tom’s help was finally able to pry it open. Inside were precious treasures—morphine, syringes, antibiotics. Will placed them carefully inside his bag, did a final sweep for food, and then got the hell out of there.

Tom was silent the entire way back, but Will kept catching the boy looking desperately at him, as if he wanted to say something. 

“Look,” he eventually said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t,” Will said quickly, “Please.”

Tom stared at him a moment longer, regret washing over his face. Will was tense, thinking the boy might try to speak anyway, but Blake simply nodded, and Will forced himself to relax. 

He didn’t know how to take any of this, but he had no choice. He chewed on the inside of his cheek until it stung, until the sharp taste of copper filled his mouth and he knew that he’d drawn blood.

When they arrived back, Will simply unpacked his things. Tomorrow, he’d need to return to the main hideout, for all the food he’d kept there if nothing else. And, even if Lauri’s ghost haunted it, it was much safer there than it was here. 

He said nothing for the rest of the night. He had no desire to speak—what good would it do, anyway? Tom seemed to get the picture, at least, and he pulled out something from his bag. The map he’d held when they’d first met. 

Will didn’t care enough to ask him what he was doing. He set his bag on the floor and drifted off.

_He could see Lauri. She was dancing, flowers in her hair, pulling Will to come and join her. She pointed out the plants that were edible, pointed out the types of birds that sang in the trees._

_“Beautiful,” she said. “Even now, they can’t stop it from being beautiful.”_

_The sun was shining up above, and she tilted her head to bask in its warmth._

_“They can’t stop the sun from shining,” she told him. “Can’t you see it?”_

_He followed her through a field, grass brushing against their bare feet. “Tom would love it here, in this place,” she said, sitting. “You should bring him.”_

_“Tom? Here?” Will asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But... I don’t know where we are!”_

_“Don’t you?” Lauri asked. She didn’t wait for a response—she was on her feet again, and Will got up, finding his hands caked in dirt. He caught up to her at a river, gazing at the gently flowing current._

_“Here,” she said, pulling him to the water, “Come wash it off your hands.”_

_He moved to slip his fingers into the water, relieved to clean them, but the dirt seemed not to come off, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He looked over to find Lauri, but she was no longer sitting next to him._

_“Lauri?” he asked, panicking. A hand touched his shoulder and he started, staring up at her._

_“I’m here,” she said, but her mouth was dripping blood. “Once you wash it off, you’ll see that. I’m always here.”_

_Will looked down at his hands—they were stained with blood, dripping onto the grass below._

_Lauri was at the river again, and when she dipped her hand into it, the water turned red. She grasped Will’s hand with her own and dunked them into the crimson liquid below._

_“Here,” she said. “Come wash it off your hands!”_

Will woke with a start, breathing heavily. He looked down at his hands to find them clear. A bit dirty, a bit scraped, but not red. Not bloody. He got up and rinsed them off anyway. 

His heart was still beating too quickly to fall back asleep, so he didn’t. He counted the cracks in the ceiling. He counted the seconds. He counted the drops of water dripping from a leak in the roof. 

He was only thrown out of this pattern when he heard a small noise come from the bed. Tom. He ignored it and went back to counting, but soon after there was another one. Will was all too familiar with nightmares to know one when he saw it—he wasn’t quite sure why he was surprised that Blake was having one. He supposed he’d thought the boy had been sheltered from the worst. Apparently not.

Will sat up abruptly, watching Tom toss and turn in his sleep. He was saying something, but Will couldn’t quite make it out. He sat there for a moment, wondering if he should wake the boy up. It wasn’t his responsibility to babysit him, surely. But then, a memory, a flash of red— _come wash it off your hands—_ and Will was on his feet.

He knew that waking people from nightmares was often not the best idea— _should he shake him awake or call his name?_

“Tom,” he settled on. The boy didn’t wake, only kept fussing over whatever he was seeing in his sleep. Will repeated it louder, but Blake was still under. Sighing, Will gently rested a hand on Tom’s shaking shoulder and squeezed a bit.

“Tom, wake up,” he tried. Nothing, and he let out a huff of air and resorted to shaking the boy a bit.

“Wake up!” he said, more forcefully, and Tom finally shot up. He was still living the aftershocks of the dream, trembling violently, scrambling away from him. Will saw the panic in his eyes, the way the adrenaline was racing through his blood, the way he was ready to fight. It was a couple of moments before the nightmare faded and Tom relaxed, staring at Will, bright blue eyes barely visible in the moonlight. Will stared back silently, not knowing what to say.

“Thanks,” Tom said finally. 

Will nodded, getting off the bed and returning to his original position on the floor. Tom stayed sitting up, and he ran a hand through his hair. It was a few minutes before he spoke.

“You… do you ever have those?” he asked.

Will leaned up on his elbow to look at him. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” Tom said. “I get them all the time. Almost every night. And then I can’t fall back asleep.”

“Yes,” Will replied. “Yes, I get them.”

“Oh,” Tom breathed. He was still for a moment, then he lay down and turned over—toward the wall and away from Will. Will watched Blake’s back rise and fall with his breaths, but he could tell that Tom wasn’t asleep. 

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore and sat up, starting to pack up his things. Tom shot up at the noise—as Will suspected, he’d been awake.

“We’d best get going,” Will told him. “No use wasting more time.”

“Alright,” Tom replied, and he looked a bit relieved to be up and moving. Will realised that Tom didn’t have very much to pack—he only had a few things, after all. He also knew Tom must be hungry, and he was eager to remedy that. Hunger ached in his stomach too.

“Where are we going, anyway,” Tom said. 

“Sanctuaire,” Will murmured. 

Tom’s eyebrows knitted together. “Sanctuary?” he asked, and Will was surprised for a moment.

“You know French?” he asked him.

“Well… a bit,” Tom said abashedly. “I took some French classes growing up.”

“Oh,” Will replied. “Yes, sanctuary. It’s… It’s a home base, of sorts, where we settled down…” He trailed off for a moment, gathering himself before continuing, softly.

“That’s what Lauri called it. Sanctuaire.”

A look of understanding crossed over Tom’s face. “Sanctuaire,” he repeated softly, as if it were some sort of holy doctrine. 

“It’s not far from here,” Will told him, “Only a few hours.”

Tom nodded his comprehension, and Will opened the door, letting him out first. It was still dawn, and it was dark enough that Will had half a mind to use his flashlight. But he knew better, knew it would be a waste of battery. They’d manage without them just fine—Will could have found his way in the dark.

Tom was silent for most of the journey, for which Will was grateful. He was not in the mood for a conversation, and Tom seemed to read that well. Or perhaps he was still feeling guilty for the conversation about Lauri. Either way, Will appreciated the muteness. He concentrated on the crunch of leaves beneath his feet, on the way the chill air slipped through his lungs. On the sound of his breathing, and Tom’s behind him.

When the area got more and more familiar, Will felt himself tense up. It was still too haunted by Lauri, all too fresh. He fought through it, telling himself he needed food, that Tom needed food, and that he’d just have to clench his jaw and push through it.

“Is that it?” Tom asked, nodding to the building ahead, knocking Will out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” Will managed. “That’s it.”

Every step was like Lauri was clinging onto him. He could see her, hear her, practically feel her with him. By the time he’d made it to the door, his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t even input the code on the door.

“Let me,” Tom said readily. “What is it?”

“07-20-99,” Will told him, and Tom easily put it in. Will was feeling as though he couldn’t breathe, and Tom had clearly taken note of that.

“Do you want me to-”

“No,” Will interrupted, his breath shuddering through his chest. “No, I need to do this.”

Tom looked uncertain, but he opened the door, and Will stepped inside. It was exactly how he remembered it, and that was the worst part of it all, how normal it looked. 

Christ, he was shaking like a leaf. He felt sick, and he was half ready to bolt back outside and empty the contents of his stomach, but he swallowed hard and stepped more in. Her things were still on the floor—her bed was unmade. 

Tears hit his eyes, hot and stinging, and he let out a shuddering sigh, dropping his bag and heading for his room. It was worse in here, without Lauri to lean against the doorway and mock him.

God, it was so much worse. He sat on his bed and cried, sobs wracking through his body with no mercy. He was so sick of crying, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t—he just buried his hands and let the tears come.

He felt Tom cautiously sit down next to him and was suddenly reminded the boy was there—he’d forgotten for a moment. _No, no,_ Will thought, _don’t say anything._

And Tom didn’t, for a moment. When he finally opened his mouth, his tones were hushed.

“I used to go to the beach,” he said. “When I was a kid. Every summer. It would just be me, my mum, and Joe, my brother.”

For some reason, this halted Will’s tears and he froze, listening. 

“And we’d play outside there, all day,” Tom continued. “We’d make these giant sandcastles—one year, I didn’t speak to Joe for two days, because he kicked mine down. I’d spent hours on it, and he came over and kicked it down, and I cried and cried, and wouldn’t speak to him.”

He paused a bit, looking over at Will. “I only forgave him when he told me I could play with this action figure he had, he’d gotten it for his birthday. And I loved it and was jealous, and he knew it. And he told me I could play with it, and I didn’t care about the sandcastle anymore.”

Tom laughed a bit, sighing. “When I got a bit older, we stopped going. We didn’t have the money. But the summer before… all of this started, my mum invited me again, and it was the three of us on that beach, and it was perfect,” he recalled. “Back then, I was stressed about school and friends, and all that, but when I was sitting on that beach with them, it didn’t matter. And I remember that day, sometimes, because no matter how bad things are now, it can’t stop the good days we’ve had from still being good, you know?”

Will wiped his eyes, nodding. His dream—what had Lauri said? _Even now, they can’t stop it from being beautiful._ He knew what she meant now. He cleared his throat. 

“Lauri used to sing,” Will said, his voice still thick with tears. “She… she would sing all the time. Songs I’d never heard, songs I had. Songs she’d written. I’d wake up to it. I pretended to be annoyed, but, really… I loved it, and she knew it. She had the voice of an angel.”

Tom was hanging onto every word. Will went on,

“And… and she’d sew clothes. It’d make her happy,” he laughed, tears rolling down his cheek. “It was pointless because they just got dirty and torn up, but it never stopped her. She was so clever—she’d come up with ways to hide us, to get us food.”

Will swallowed hard, nodding. “You were right,” he told Tom, “We should talk about her. Sometimes I’m scared I’ll forget her.”

“I saw some pictures,” Tom said, “Hanging up in the main room. It might help, to look at them. And, maybe, to write down your favourite memories.”

Will nodded again, getting to his feet.

“Yes,” he said, “Yes, I think that’d be good.”

It was a little easier this time, to see Lauri’s things. He gently knelt beside them, opening them up. It was mostly supplies, but also poems. Poems she’d written. He picked one up, silently repeating the words:

_As I tilt my face up to the sun,_

_Sometimes I can still feel its warmth._

_The world has gone dark and cold,_

_The people are dark and cold too._

_But the sun is still warm._

_Sometimes it’s simple things that_

_Remind me—_

_Like Will._

_Like Eleanor._

_Like the sun._

_Not all is lost_

_Only some_

_And what has gone_

_Can one day be rebuilt_

_If there are only enough_

_To keep that light._


	4. Chapter 4

For the next couple of weeks, Will was content to stay in place. He knew he should look for Avallon, but he had no leads on where it was anyway, and he figured Lauri would have wanted him to take a bit of time. 

Tom seemed alright with that—his eyes had widened intensively when he’d seen the amount of food here, and Will was more than happy to share it. It was much better than being alone.

Tom talked too much, but it was better than the silence, and it often distracted Will from his thoughts, which he much preferred to marinating in them. He often caught Tom looking at the map he had, and it wasn’t long before he’d gotten curious enough to ask about it.

“That’s a map, isn’t it?” Will asked, and Tom looked a bit surprised that Will had initiated conversation.

“Yes,” he said, “I started it at the beginning of this all. It helps to keep track of things. I add to it sometimes.”

He tilted it over for Will to look at it, and Will begrudgingly gazed over it.

Tom’s handwriting was surprisingly neat, and Will scanned over the names on it. _Sanctuaire, safe house, Lauri last seen, Avallon-_

Will stopped cold, his eyes locked on the name.

“Avallon?” he asked Tom, who nodded and made a face.

“You know it?” he asked Will, “Yeah, trust me, you don’t want to go there.”

Will barely heard him, he was too focused on the name, building up a plan in his head. Tom saw his face, easily read his intentions.

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” he told Will, gripping his shoulder. “We can’t—”

“I have to,” Will said stubbornly. “Eleanor, Lauri’s wife, she’s there.”

Tom gripped tighter. “We _can’t,_ ” he said again, more intensely. “They’ll kill me as soon as they see me, and they’d probably do the same to you. They’re evil, I’d know.”

This finally caught Will’s attention, and he turned his gaze up to Blake.

“What do you mean? Why would they kill you?” he asked, and Tom sighed and sat back on his knees. 

“I lived there, for a bit, with my brother,” he explained. “They only let in people who benefit them. Joe had to trade away almost everything we had with them to even get in, and then being inside there was… _awful._ No one cared about anyone else, and the rules and punishments were just… insane,” he said, shuddering at the memory. “Joe and I managed to get out, but only barely, and we got split up in the process. If I ever went back, they’d kill me on sight for sure.”

Will took a minute to take that in. “How long ago were you there?” he asked, and Tom shivered even though the room was warm.

“I’d just left when I ran into Lauri,” he told Will, who sighed, massaging his temple.

“Was Eleanor there?” he asked, but Tom shook his head. 

“Not while I was in,” he answered. “I can’t guarantee she’s _not_ there now, but… there are signs warning people away from the camp up there, anyway. If she was the kind of person to be married to Lauri, I doubt she’d stay in a place like that.”

Will stared at him helplessly. “You’re sure?” he asked. 

Tom nodded. “I’m certain.”

Will didn’t know what to do now. _How was he supposed to find Eleanor if she was not in Avallon? Had she ever really even been there?_

“Your brother,” he said to Tom softly, “Where is he?”

Tom shook his head in defeat. “I wish I knew. I looked for him for a while, but... ”

He trailed off and gazed down at his hands, and Will knew what that meant. _No leads._

“And then you found Lauri,” Will stated. He was trying to picture it in his mind, Tom and Lauri—they had no doubt gotten along well, and the bracelet Tom still wore around his wrist only proved that.

“Yes,” Tom confirmed, “Until I found Lauri. And she gave me some of her food and helped me look for him, and I helped her look for you.”

Will chose to study the wood beneath his feet rather than look at Tom. He didn’t think he was strong enough to face that.

“We looked almost everywhere for you, you know,” Tom said, “We even went back to the building you two had been, went back to where you had fallen, but you were gone. No body, nothing—she always knew you were alive.”

Will wanted to scream in frustration, scream about the fact that if he’d just remained put, they’d all three of them be together now and— 

“She told me all about you,” Tom grinned, but his voice was thick with tears. “I was really excited to meet you.”

“Your bracelet,” Will said, nodding to it, “When she’d do that?”

“The last day I saw her,” Tom murmured. “She had me pick out some colours and then… told me I was part of the group. That we’d be like the three musketeers.”

God, it hurt to hear, but Will knew a part of him had to. He took in a deep breath and stood, his knees crying out from the movement. He’d been squatting down for far too long. 

“How far is the camp?” he asked, and anxiety flashed over Tom’s face.

“Will?” he asked, looking hurt.

“I just… how far is it?” Will sighed, his brain roaming over the potential situations.

An array of emotions ran over Tom’s face until he’d clenched his jaw and resigned himself to a numbness that Will had never seen in him.

“Few days,” Tom said softly. “But— ”

“I’m not going to try and get into the camp,” Will said, “But if Eleanor was headed in that direction, then... then I need to at least _try_ to find her. To at least look around that area.”

Tom relaxed a little, but he still looked very worried, as if he didn’t quite believe him—as if he was afraid that Will would still try to go to Avallon. 

“Alright,” he said eventually, turning away from Will and making himself busy with the map. Will was completely and utterly confused—he’d just said he wasn’t going in the camp, hadn’t he? So why was Tom upset?

He knelt down next to him, hesitant. Where to start, and how do you fix something if you don’t know how or why it’s broken? 

He leaned forward a bit, trying to get Tom to look him in the eye, but Blake was avoiding Will’s gaze like it was the plague. 

“Tom,” Will said, “What is it?”

Tom just shook his head and kept staring at the map. Sighing, Will shifted until he was sitting on the floor and waited, not knowing what else to do.

“I just…” Tom started, then choked up for a moment. He swallowed hard and stared down at his hands, where he was fidgeting with a ring on his finger. Will waited patiently.

“Lauri and Joe… I lost them,” Tom said. “I mean, maybe Joe is alive, but…” He paused, shaking his head. “Even if he is, I’ll probably never see him again.”

Will’s brow furrowed as he listened, wondering where this was going.

“And I—I know that I don’t know you very well,” Tom admitted, “But I’m so fucking _tired_ of losing people.”

Will finally understood. Resting a hand on Tom’s shoulder, he squeezed a bit. 

“You won’t lose me,” he insisted. 

“They both told me that too,” Tom said, finally turning to look at him. There was a fiery grief in his eyes, and Will felt as if he were being torn apart. 

_Lauri,_ he thought, _what the hell do I do?_

“I’ll be careful,” he said, and Tom shoved out of his grip and stood.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he asked. “Up there, it’s not like it is here, or even like it is in the city. If you’re there, you won’t have any control over if you’ll get hurt or not! It won’t fucking matter if you’re careful, because you’ll still end up gone, or hurt, or dead, and I’ll be alone again! I’ll have lost you just like I’ve lost everyone else, and-”

He cut off, the tears finally suffocating his voice. 

“And I _can’t,_ ” he finished, though the tears hadn’t subsided. “I know it’s probably selfish, but I just _can’t._ ”

As the tears finally overcame him, Tom buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking silently.

 _Oh, Christ_ , Will thought, thinking back to Tom’s nightmares, feeling more lost than ever—what would Lauri have done? Would it forsake her to remain with Tom, or would it have been what she wanted? 

After a moment, Will stood and placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder again, then on second thought hesitantly pulled him into his arms.

“Alright,” he murmured, resigning himself from the plans he’d been making. “Alright, I won’t go, don’t worry.”

Tom’s sobs had opened up fully, and he gripped onto Will’s shirt and cried as Will tried to comfort him, to reassure him the best that he could. 

Even before the apocalypse, Will had never exactly been a physical person, who showed their affection with touch or words. He was far too reserved to be comfortable with that sort of emotional vulnerability, not unless it was someone he trusted. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d hugged someone.

But just with the way Tom had sunken into the hug, the same way he always sank into touch, Will knew that he needed it. And Will didn’t mind it so much—it was just a bit raw, a little out of his comfort zone. Will pushed back the hesitance, he pushed back the panic and reservations, and rubbed Tom’s back, telling him that it’d be alright, that he was going to stay. After a while, Tom’s sobs quieted and all was quiet save for his soft breathing.

“Er,” he said, pulling away and avoiding Will’s eyes, “Thank you.”

Will gave a nod, not knowing what to say now. Any moment they’d just shared had now faded into awkwardness, and there was a dreadful moment of silence before Tom cleared his throat and went into his room.

Will stood there looking at Tom’s closed door for a moment, rubbing his temples as he considered his situation. Life was much too complicated nowadays—how on earth were you ever supposed to know whether or not you’ve made the correct decision in times like these? Heading over to Lauri’s things, Will looked at the pictures of her that now lay as a sort of shrine, an honour to her memory. He gazed at them fondly, remembering the moments they’d been taken.

“Lauri,” he uttered, barely audible, “Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

But there was no response.


	5. Chapter 5

It was another two months before the food supply was low. Will couldn’t pretend he was surprised, especially since the two of them hadn’t been eager to go hunt for more. It was bound to become scarce eventually.

Despite the fact that he had tried to make peace with it, Will often spent nights waking, feeling guilty that he hadn’t gone to Avallon. But seeing Tom next to him, smiling more by the day, it almost erased the fact from his mind as time went on. _Almost_. 

He also could swear that Blake had made it his goal to constantly be touching him. A touch on the back as he passed, a clap on the shoulder after a joke, a reassuring squeeze of the hand when Sanctuaire got too much and Will had to get some air. 

At first, Will had wanted to pull away from it. Touch was overwhelming and personal, too vulnerable. It signified closeness, it signified trust. Trust that Will was hesitant to give, no matter how he found the significance of it endearing. 

His mind had started to get used to it, and, even more, had started to _ache_ for it. Every time Tom touched him, Will had to fight the urge to lean into it. But touch was a luxury and Will seemed unable to afford it.

He couldn’t afford to ponder on the meaning behind the touches, he couldn't afford to get attached to Tom as he had Lauri. The wound of Lauri’s loss had dulled into a steady ache, but still, it throbbed. 

With every day that passed, with every smile Blake gave him, he understood more why Tom had wanted him to stay, had been afraid to lose him. 

Will didn’t think he could survive another loss. But, how was he to prevent it? How was he to ever ensure that Tom would be safe? He couldn’t. The circumstances were out of his control completely. 

He was at war with himself, in a sense. He knew that if he kept up a cold pretence, he’d drive Tom away. He also knew if he didn’t, if he and Tom got any closer, it would be so much worse to lose him. 

The terrible thing was, they needed food. And Will was constantly in a debate with himself: to bring Blake, or leave him behind? It would be cruel to leave him, as cruel as if he left for the Avallon. But this was different. This was food to put in their bellies, this was something they needed. Even Blake couldn’t deny that, though he’d surely insist on coming with him.

But Will couldn’t help but consider slipping out, one night while Tom was asleep. Then Will would know he was safe. Then Will wouldn’t have to worry about the hunters, about them getting to Tom. But then Tom would still need food, if something happened and Will didn’t come back. And he’d have to go out alone, just as he had when he and Will had first met. 

And that would be worse. For Will to know that he’d not only betrayed Tom, but also left him on his own. No, as awful as it was for Will to have to bring Tom back into danger, it was better to be able to keep an eye on him. It was better for them to go together. 

As soon as he’d decided that, his brain had wanted to stay. It had wanted to close its eyes to the possibility of Tom getting hurt, of Tom dying—he wanted to lay down and hear Tom there, and to never have to leave for anything. It was two more days before the anxiety of needing food overpowered Will’s concern, the knowledge that it was either Tom starving again or risk losing him. Both were horrible. Only one had the option of turning out alright. They needed to go. 

“The food is getting low,” Will said, and Tom nodded his head.

“We’ll have to get more,” Tom replied. “I know.”

“Tomorrow,” Will said, “Tomorrow.”

Tom packed his bags that night, and Will followed suit. He kept his thoughts off of _what if_ and _if something happens_ and he focused on the soft grain of the wooden floor, on the mesh on his pack, on the steady rhythm of his breath. 

_Nothing to worry about,_ he told himself. He knew it wasn’t true, but what more could he do? He could do nothing but breathe, and keep himself from panicking. He kept his focus and he kept his cool, and he told himself there was nothing to worry about until he was nearly convinced it was true. 

“It’ll be fine,” Tom said, as if he knew that was a fact, as if he could read Will’s thoughts.

“Yes,” Will replied, but Tom sat next to him like he’d just denied it. 

“Will,” he said insistently, “It’ll be fine.” And there the touch was again, a hand on his knee.

“I just said it would, didn’t I?” Will asked, sighing as he finished packing.

“You’re not hard to read,” Tom said, “You drum your fingers on the floor when you’re nervous.”

Will hadn’t known Tom noticed that, but he really should have, he supposed. 

“I hate it out there,” Will finally admitted, drawing a hand over his face. Tom scooted in closer. 

“I know,” he said, “And I do too. But it’s not like we have a choice.”

“No,” Will replied. “I know we don’t.” He sighed into his palm and removed his hand from his face, moving his fingers up to his temple, applying light pressure. 

He looked over at Tom, who was much closer than he’d thought, and felt a sudden urge to move away. _But why?_ His hand dropped from his temple.

“Well, what are you afraid will happen?” Tom asked him, and Will was suddenly feeling the heat of the hand on his knee. He pushed his thoughts away and focused. 

“Hunters,” he responded. “I’d rather not have a run-in with them.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed, “We should avoid that if we can.” 

Will was suddenly overwhelmed, and he was feeling as if any second he’d run out the door. He pulled out of Tom’s grasp and stood instead, setting his bag next to his bed.

“Tom, I—you should stay here,” he said, and Tom was instantly tense, instantly offended.

“Stay,” Tom repeated, “What, so I can have a repeat of what happened with Lauri? I don’t think so.”

Will was trying not to panic. “Listen, it’s dangerous out there,” he started, trying to keep his cool.

“I don’t care!” Tom exclaimed. “I’m not staying here and waiting for you to not come back. I thought we’d already talked about that!”

Will sighed and sat on his bed, trying to relax. Tom was much too stubborn to convince, but Will was shaking just at the _thought_ of him going out there.

Tom plopped down next to him, still angry. “Look, I’m not going to slow you down or anything,” he said, and Will shook his head.

“I didn’t think you would,” Will said. “I—it’s safer for you in here.”

“I’d rather die out there than wait here and not have anyone come back,” Tom replied indignantly.

“And _I’d_ rather not lose you if I don’t have to,” Will said thickly. Tom softened a bit, understanding.

“It’s less dangerous when there’s two of us,” he said, “And it’s not like we’re going to Avallon. We’ve been out there before.”

Will huffed, running a hand through his hair, but didn’t reply. Tom moved in closer, his thigh against Will’s.

“And anyway, splitting up is never a good idea,” Tom told him. “Haven’t you seen a horror movie?”

Will laughed despite himself, rolling his eyes. “Right,” he said.

Tom nudged his shoulder, grinning. “You don’t want to lose me,” he said, almost smugly. “My stories were too good to lose?”

“Be quiet,” Will said. “Go to sleep.” 

Tom’s grin only widened. “That wasn’t denial,” he pointed out, standing and flashing a grin at him. “Don’t worry, I get to everyone eventually.”

Will shook his head and laid down, turning away. 

“Go to sleep,” he said again, and he heard Tom go into his room and fiddle with something. 

It took Will a bit to drift off, and it must have only been a few more hours before he was awakened by a noise from Tom’s room.

It’d been a while since Tom had a nightmare, or perhaps they hadn’t been bad enough to wake Will, but either way, Tom was having one now, bad enough that he was making noise. Will drowsily got up and stumbled, half-asleep, into Tom’s room.

Whatever Tom was dreaming about, it was _bad_ —he was crying out, and Will had to shake him a few times before he was awake. When he came to and saw it was Will, he choked out a soft sob and clung onto him, trembling violently.

“It’s alright,” Will said, rubbing his back, “It wasn’t real. You’re alright.”

“Fuck,” Tom shivered, sniffling, “I—it _felt_ real.”

“They always do,” Will replied. Tom’s tears slowed, but he maintained his grip on Will’s shirt, his face buried into Will’s neck. They stayed like that a while, Tom clearly shaken, Will listening to his breathing and murmuring soft things to him.

He didn’t mean to, but he was exhausted—Will was drifting off. He didn’t mean for it, but he couldn’t help it, and he was having to fight to stay awake. 

Tom noticed, inevitably, and he pulled away to look up at him. 

“Will,” he said, “Just lie down. Please.”

Tom lay on the bed again, and Will could see that he was still shaking. He sat there a moment before he made up his mind and lay down next to Tom, his chest pressed to Blake’s back. Tom let out a soft sigh and shifted, burying his head into the pillow. Will listened to the sound of his breathing, his eyes drooping again.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke up holding Tom. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but the fact was undeniable—his arm was tucked around him, and their legs were tangled together. Will made no move to detach himself, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to. The air was biting and Tom was warm, nestled against him and breathing evenly. No, Will lay there until Tom had come to, hair sticking up in all directions and eyes drowsy.

“Morning,” Tom greeted him softly, hesitantly. 

Will sat up and stretched. “Morning,” he replied. There was a nervousness in Tom’s eyes, some sort of panic—it was as if he was anticipating Will to be angry. Will gently set a hand on his back.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Tom replied. “Thanks, for… you know. Helping.”

Will nodded, giving him a weak smile. 

There was a moment as they looked at each other, but Will had no idea what to say. 

“We’d… we’d better get up,” Will suggested, and Tom stood, ruffling his hand through his hair.

Will followed after him, into his own room, but he couldn’t shake the memory of Tom’s hesitance. _Why had he been so nervous? Yes, they’d—they’d fallen asleep next to each other, but… there was no reason to fuss over it._

Will focused on breakfast, on a plan. He ran over it in his mind, not letting himself consider the fact that he might lose Tom as he lost Lauri. That he might be forced to return to Sanctuaire alone, with Tom’s blood stained into his hands and silence again. He couldn’t take that. He couldn’t, so he forced himself to be convinced it wouldn’t happen. 

When Tom came out of his room, dressed, they locked eyes and Tom gave him a shy grin.

“Breakfast,” Will said, nodding towards it. Tom sat down and ate, his gaze sometimes flickering over to Will, as if he was expecting him to say something. 

“We have to be careful out there,” Will said, “Safety is the priority, not food. I’d rather both of us be alive and hungry than dead and full.”

“Okay,” Tom said. “Yeah.”

“So,” Will continued, “If there are any signs of danger, don’t make any risky moves. It’s not worth it.”

“I won’t,” Tom assured him. 

“And don’t go running off without me,” Will said. “We need to stick together.”

“Scho,” Tom said, but Will’s mind was panicked, and he wanted to make sure he’d said everything he wanted to say—he trudged on.

“And if there are hunters, we’re coming back immediately,” he instructed. “And—”

“Scho,” Tom repeated. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

Will couldn’t meet his eyes. All he could see was Lauri, pale and cold in his arms.

Tom squatted down in front of him and took his hand. 

“Hey,” he said softly, “It’ll be alright. Like you said, if we see anything dangerous, we’ll come back, right?”

“Right,” Will agreed, but he was trembling. Tom sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, grabbing something small that Will wasn’t quite able to see.

“This might cheer you up,” Tom said, opening up his palm and holding it out to Will. It took Will a second to process what he was seeing—a small mouse sitting in Tom’s hand. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied, he might have been more affected.

“What is that?” he asked, his brow creasing as he stared down at it.

“A mouse!” Tom said, softly petting its head with his finger. 

“Well, I can see that,” Will explained, “But why do you have a mouse?”

“She’s come into my room at night sometimes,” Tom said, “And I gave her some crumbs, and she really seems to like me.”

Will stared down at the small little thing, which Tom held so gently. It sniffed up at him, nose twitching. 

“Her name is Brie, like the cheese!” Tom continued, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Will kissed him. 

He wasn’t sure how it happened—one moment he was looking at Tom, processing that the boy had befriended a mouse and named it after a cheese, and the next his lips were pressed against Tom’s.

Tom made a small noise in the back of his throat and melted into it, gripping onto Will’s sweater with his free hand. He held on so desperately and tightly that it was as if his life depended on it. 

They only broke apart when Brie started to squirm in Tom’s hand, and Tom pulled away and carefully tucked her back in his pocket. His cheeks were flushed, and he hesitated a moment before meeting Will’s eyes and smiling bigger than Will had ever seen.

Will didn’t know what to say or do—he hadn’t fully taken in what he’d just done, and he stared dumbly back at Tom, half in shock, bringing his fingers up to his lips.

“That was… wow,” Tom said. “You just kissed me.”

“Er—yes,” Will replied, trying to get a grip on himself. Tom leaned closer, a bit of fear entering his eyes as he searched Will’s expression.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” he said, his voice taking on a soft, nervous tone. 

“No,” Will said, because he didn’t. “No, I… no.”

Tom leaned in even more, so close that his nose nuzzled against Will’s, and Will let himself raise a hand to Tom’s cheek, brushing his thumb over it.

“Do you want to do it again?” Tom asked, and Will pushed back every other thought and breathed a yes, kissing him again. This one came easier, more tenderly, the heat of Tom against him drowning out everything else.

Will hadn’t kissed anyone in… he couldn’t quite remember, not while Tom’s hand was tangled in his hair, not while they clung together, only breaking apart to breathe. 

Things like romance and kissing hadn’t mattered in so long that Will barely remembered how they felt, and this was the loveliest reminder. He let himself want, he let himself feel, feel Tom against him, he let himself pull away and smile at him, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

He let his hand drift down to cup Tom’s jaw, taking in his face—taking in the way a dusting of freckles littered his nose and cheeks, taking in the way Tom’s smile tilted ever so slightly to the side, taking in the shade of his eyes.

Tom was looking at him with a curious expression, as if he wasn’t sure what to think or say.

Will didn’t know what to say either, he simply reached for Tom’s hand and squeezed.

He wanted to kiss Tom again, so he did. They didn’t want to let go, neither of them—they clung on, nuzzled into each other’s cheeks, shared a variety of long and short kisses, some passionate and some soft, and some of them mixing the two. Time was passing—Will knew they should leave, but he really didn’t want to.

“We should get going,” he muttered, but only because he knew it would make the outside world safer if they left earlier.

“Yeah,” Tom replied, but then he was pressing his lips to Will’s again, and Will didn’t have it in him to protest, not when he was finally getting something he hadn’t even dared to let himself want.

But then, after a moment, Brie was squirming in Tom’s pocket, and they pulled away a bit.

“We’d better get going,” Will murmured softly, taking Tom’s face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah,” Tom said, but he got up this time, stretching. Will glanced at the little outline in Tom’s shirt pocket that revealed Brie, then back up to Tom.

“Are we taking her?” he asked, and Tom shook his head.

“Nah,” Tom said, “I made her a makeshift house. It’ll be safer for her there.”

Lifting the mouse back into his hand, Tom retreated into his room and returned a second later without her. Will nodded towards the door.

“Come on, we’re losing light,” he told him. Tom followed him out silently, blowing warmth into his hands—it was bitterly cold. 

Will hesitated a moment before reaching over and taking Tom’s hands in his own, warming them up for a moment before letting go of one of them and lacing his fingers between the other, holding it as they walked.

Tom looked deliriously happy, and it wasn’t long before the emotion evolved into his usual cockiness.

“So,” he said, “How long have you wanted to do that?”

“Do what?” Will asked, looking down at their interlaced hands. “Hold your hand?”

“No, kiss me,” Tom said. “That first kiss came a bit out of nowhere—I mean, I’m not complaining, but… I just wondered.”

“I don’t know,” Will replied, huffing out a breath. “A while.”

“Wish you would have done it sooner,” Tom admitted, nudging into Will’s shoulder. “I’ve been lonely.” 

“Sorry,” Will said, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “I haven’t… I’m not well rehearsed in romance.”

“Don’t be,” Tom grinned, “No one is these days. It’s not like I’ve exactly been having a load of suitors at my door.”

The walk the rest of the way was quiet, the kind of quiet that Will was thankful for—it meant no one was around. If thinking about losing Tom had been unbearable before, it was excruciating now. He kept looking over at him, reminding himself that he was there. 

Tom caught him at it once or twice and smiled back, giving his hand a squeeze. That reassured Will a little. 

The closer they got to the city, the more Will’s shoulders tensed. He focused on easy breathing and the assurance that if any danger was there, they’d leave. He stayed on the outskirts, an area he was unfamiliar with. Tom was marking it all down on his map, which helped a little. 

It doesn’t look picked through, at least,” Tom said. “So hopefully we’ll be able to find things fast and get out.”

“We should start a garden,” Will murmured, a bit out of the blue. “And see if we can find any books about hunting. Then we won’t have to come back like this.”

“A garden’s a good idea,” Tom said, “My mum was crazy about plants. We had all kinds of things—cabbage, tomatoes, carrots, strawberries.” 

“Really?” Will asked, and Tom nodded.

“Yeah,” he sighed, lost in the memory. “As for hunting, I already know about that. Me and Joe used to hunt back in the day. We’d just need equipment for that.”

Will stopped and turned to look at him. “You used to hunt?” he asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve talked about it before,” Tom shrugged. “It wasn’t my favorite, and Joe was better at it, anyway.”

“Anything’s better than nothing,” Will told him. “Do you think we’d find equipment here, though?”

“Maybe,” Tom said. “Are there any supermarkets, do you think?”

“Up there, there might be,” Will said, pointing. “But let’s check the houses here first.”

“Right,” Tom agreed. “And let’s see if there’s anything in the church.”

“Why?” Will questioned, taking a look at it. It was a tall, daunting building, grey stone. In the yard, it was surrounded by wilted plants, weeds ensnarling most of the grounds. One of the glass windows had been caved in, presumably someone had thrown something at it and caused it to shatter.

“Well, it used to have a garden, see?” Tom said, gesturing to the wilted space of lawn that Will now realized was a garden. 

“So maybe they left seeds and gardening tools somewhere in there,” Tom concluded. “It’s at least worth a look, and besides—we might find something else in there too.”

“What, a bible?” Will scoffed, to which Tom rolled his eyes.

“No,” he said. “Wine. Candles. Et cetera.”

“If you insist,” Will breathed, not exactly as eager at the idea as Tom was. 

They checked the first few houses around the area and found a few cans of fruit and such, but nothing more sustaining. It was somehow unbearably hot, and Will wanted to leave as soon as possible. Then there was the church. They tried the door—it was locked. 

“Alright, Blake,” Will sighed, wiping his forehead. “Tell me how we’re supposed to get in now.”

“Relax,” Tom replied, flashing his usual grin. “I’ll just pop in through that broken window.”

“Are you insane?” Will replied immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“But how else are we supposed to get in, then?” Tom asked. 

“We don’t,” Will answered. “We move on. We don’t know what’s in there, and I can’t follow you up there.”

“I’ll come back if there’s anything wrong,” Tom suggested, but Will shook his head. 

“Weren’t you the one who said not to split up?” Will reminded him. 

Blake fixed him with a pout, but Will did not relent—Tom gave up with a sigh, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he said, frustrated, “Then we’ll just not go in. No seeds or wine for us.”

“Right,” Will replied. “Sounds good. I never liked wine.”

They moved on, though Will could tell Tom was a little disappointed they hadn’t gone in. Will didn’t care—he’d rather have a disappointed Tom than a dead one. The window was a risk he was not willing to take. 

Sure enough, there was a supermarket down the road. Will and Tom had to budge open the door—it’d been blocked, but it gave after a few pushes. It was dark and dusty inside, and they had to turn on their flashlights to light the way. 

It was a jackpot, relatively speaking. There were rows of packaged foods, canned foods, not yet expired. Will quickly found seeds, and he grabbed all the ones of anything that was edible. Tom grabbed the rest.

“Might as well make our yard look nice,” he explained when Will gave him a look. 

Then there was another thing to find—alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol. Will shined his light over a bottle of Chardonnay, then gripped it and handed it over to Tom.

“There’s your wine,” he said. “And we didn’t even need to go into the church.”

“No candles, though,” Tom said, and Will rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll find you some candles,” he said exasperatedly, returning to the aisles. It didn’t take him long, and he gave a call out to Tom. 

“Here,” he called, “Candles.”

Tom strolled over and took a look, putting the ones he liked into his bag. 

“Do you think they have bags here?” Tom asked. “Or luggage? Then we could carry more back.” 

“Well, we can’t exactly roll suitcases back on the forest floor,” Will pointed out. “But maybe they have bigger bags, yes.”

“Lead the way,” Tom told him, and Will started towards where he thought they might be. There was just one second too long of silence, one second where the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he whirled back. His brain expected to see Tom there, grinning, but there was nothing behind him. His blood went cold.

“Tom?” he called, his breathing already starting to heighten. “Tom!”

Tom was gone. Only silence came as an answer.


	7. Chapter 7

Tom would know that sweater anywhere. He hadn’t meant to follow the stranger, hadn’t meant to leave Will, but as soon as he’d seen it, his feet had moved faster than his mind, and he’d ended up following this man out of the store. 

The man, who was greasy and dirty, and had obviously tried to avoid the two of them. Tom would have missed him slipping out if he hadn’t managed to turn his head at the right moment and see him, and more importantly, see the sweater. Tom really would know it anywhere—it was Joe’s, Mum had made it for him the Christmas before the world had ended. It was a soft green, with a cherry blossom tree crocheted on the arm, making it distinctive. Tom had a matching one in his things, but in a light blue, his favourite colour. 

He had to find out where the man had gotten it. Maybe Joe had traded it for supplies, or something similar, and if Tom could just find out where he’d gone…

“Hey!” he called. The man glanced back towards him, barely bothering to look. 

“Leave me alone,” the man muttered, continuing to head towards what must have been his camp.

“Your sweater,” Tom said, “Where did you get it?”

The man tensed but kept his eyes fixed away from Tom. 

“Fuck off,” he said. 

Tom stared at the man a moment, knowing he should leave, but not able to. 

“Listen,” he went on hesitantly, “I just need to know if someone gave it to you-”

The man whirled around, bearing a knife and gripping the collar of Tom’s coat. “What did I fucking tell you?” he snapped, “I told you to leave me alone, so fucking leave me alone or-”

He stopped suddenly, finally looking at Tom, _really_ looking. 

“Oh, Christ,” he said, letting go of Tom and dropping the knife. “Don’t. Don’t tell me you’re a Blake.”

Tom’s hands were shaking from the moment of adrenaline, and he had to take a moment to recover from the shock.

“Yes,” he said, trying to stop shaking, “I’m Tom.”

The man gave a bitter laugh, burying his face in his hands. “This fucking world hates me,” he muttered, taking a deep breath.

“I—do you know where Joe is?” Tom asked. “We got separated a while ago, and I’ve been trying to find him ever since.”

The man grabbed a bottle off the ground, taking a deep swig. Tom watched him, waiting for an answer.

“You’re too late,” the man spat, “By about a month. He’s buried down the road, in the grave on the far right. You can go take a look, if you’d like.”

Tom sat in dumb shock for a moment, staring blankly. 

“Buried,” he repeated, “I… no. No, he can’t— he’s… he’s strong. He’s alive.”

The man gave him a helpless look, softening. “I wish more than anything that was true,” he said gently.

Tom’s lungs suddenly stopped working and he gulped in breaths he didn’t feel.

“Fuck’s sake,” the man said, though his tone was soft. “Sit down.”

He led Tom to a chair and lightly pushed him into it. Tom let him, barely aware. His cheeks were wet and he kept feeling as though this were somehow untrue, as if he’d misheard.

“It was the flu,” Leslie said, sitting on the ground near Tom and taking another swig of whiskey. “The fucking flu. He was sick and I couldn’t save him. I’m sorry.”

Will was suddenly there, breathless, squatting down to take Tom’s face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking from Tom to the stranger. “What happened?” 

Tom couldn’t answer. He couldn’t find it in himself, couldn’t process what the man had just told him.

“His brother’s dead,” the man said bluntly. 

“Jesus,” Will cursed, placing a hand on Tom’s knee. “Tom, listen to me,” he said, and Tom met his gaze.

“Let’s go,” Will said, “Let’s go home.”

Tom shook his head, and when Will carefully tried to pull him to his feet, he let out a strangled noise and pulled back.

“Stop!” Tom exclaimed, “Stop, I need to… I need to see him. His grave.”

Will gave an exhausted look to the man next to Tom, who looked back with a sort of numbness that frightened him.

“Alright,” Will said. “Do you want me—do you want me there?”

Tom hesitated and then nodded, a tiny movement that Will almost didn’t catch. Will held his hand out, an offering that Tom hesitantly took, his breaths hitching and shuddering.

Tom was trying not to cry in front of Will, but it was pointless. Joe was dead. He knew the grave that he’d see soon would only confirm that.

Will rubbed his back, an action that forced a soft sob from Tom before he pulled away from Will’s touch and started down the road. It wasn’t long before the graves, crude piles of rock. 

There it was, just as Leslie had said. A small rock pile, a makeshift grave, on the far right and only one word carved into the wooden marker that settled atop it. _Joe._

“Fuck,” Tom muttered, feeling like he couldn’t breathe again. A part of him had known this all along, had known that he’d never find Joe alive. But he’d so hoped that he was wrong, that he’d find Joe there, alive and well, and smiling like he always did. Joe gave the best hugs—crushing, not too tight, but enough to suck away everything else. 

More than anything, Tom needed one of those hugs right now. Instead, he sunk to his knees and fought the tears, trying to find something to say. 

_He's your brother,_ he told himself, _he deserves a proper goodbye._

“Joe,” he said softly, voice breaking. “Fuck, I—I hope it didn’t hurt. Going, I mean.” His body shuddered, fighting off the sobs. He could see Will, hesitantly standing a few feet off.

“You were… you were the best brother, even though you could be an ass,” he continued, shaking his head. “You always protected me, and did what you could to make sure I was alive. I mean, I wouldn’t be here without you, so…”

The tears had caught up with him, and he wiped his cheeks, trying to get his voice back, to finish.

“I’m sorry for—for all the times I was an ass, too. Christ, I’m sorry. I’m going to… to do my best, you know. To make sure that I don’t waste it. Because, if you hadn’t done what you’d done to save me, I don’t think you’d be here now. You were always selfless, fucking bastard. Fuck.”

He sat there, staring, at the grave, at the word _Joe_ , then suddenly remembered his bag and reached for it.

“I dreamed about you the other night,” he said, “That day on the beach. And, I drew it—you always liked my drawings, so...” 

He carefully laid it in front of the grave, using stones to keep the wind from blowing it away. He knew when the rain came, it’d fade, but he didn’t care. He sat there more, not knowing what else to say. The tears won, and he let them coarse down his cheeks, let the sobs wrack through his body, until his muscles ached, until the sky had gotten a bit darker. Then came Will’s gentle hand on his back, comforting and familiar.

Tom looked up at him, gave him a nod, _ready to go._ He wasn’t, really, but he couldn’t stay there forever. Joe was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. Will helped him up, and Tom buried himself in Will’s arms. 

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” Will told him. Tom clung onto Will’s shirt a moment, before his feet steadied, before he felt stable enough to keep moving. He pulled away and took another look at the grave. He had more to say, he didn’t want to leave, didn’t want Joe’s cold body to be alone in this place.

Will was waiting for him. Tom glanced back at him, saw the concern on his face. 

“You can start on without me,” Tom told him. “I’ll catch up.”

Will hesitated but nodded, and Tom turned back to the grave. To Joe, who had lived and breathed so vividly that even now, when he was gone, Tom could see and hear him like he was there, smiling and giving Tom his usual banter.

“You deserved better than this,” Tom told him. “You and Lauri, and Mum, and… and everyone else who’s gone. I know you said life isn’t fair, but… God, I wish it was.”

He stared for a moment more before he ran to catch up with Will.


	8. Chapter 8

In the time it took for Tom to heal enough to go outside and not despise the sunshine, he made a new friend. Leslie, the man who’d told him about Joe. Will had somehow convinced him to come back with them. Tom didn’t know how—he didn’t remember anything about the journey back. He hadn’t seen or heard anything but Joe.

For someone so bitter, Leslie was surprisingly motivated. 

Tom hadn’t been able to eat or sleep, not for the first few days. He only got up to take care of Brie, and even though staying awake was agony, he couldn’t ever get himself to drift off. He laid there and stared at the wall. He loved Will, it hurt when Will tried to get some food into him and he couldn’t eat it, it hurt to know how worried Will was, but he couldn’t. He _couldn’t._

Leslie, meanwhile, had taken a very different approach to Will’s gentle words and kind touch. On the fourth day of grief, after some very choice words with Will, Leslie stormed into Tom’s room and tossed some clean clothes at him. 

“Get up,” he said. 

Tom didn’t move or respond. He didn’t care.

“Get up,” Leslie said again. “Hell, if I need to drag you out of bed, I will. Believe me.”

“Leave me alone,” Tom told him. 

“Only if you get up,” Leslie replied. Tom leaned up on his elbow and glared at him. 

“I’ve just found out my brother is dead. I think I have the right to grieve,” Tom snapped. 

“Grieve all you like,” Leslie responded, “But eat some fucking food. And take a bath.”

Tom ignored him and laid on the bed again, returning his gaze to the wall. 

“You think this is what he wanted, Tom?” Leslie asked. “For you to starve yourself?”

“Go away,” Tom said, feeling his chest tighten the way it always did before he cried. “Fuck off.”

Leslie didn’t. “You were the only thing he ever talked about, you know,” he said, sitting at the foot of the bed. “He didn’t care about anything else, as long as you were alright.”

Tears came, hot and stinging, and Tom was angry and exhausted and on the verge of completely losing his composure, and he sat up. 

“Just leave me alone, alright?” he exclaimed, feeling wetness on his cheeks and brushing it away. “I don’t want to hear about this!”

“I’m not going to let you let yourself rot,” Leslie said. “It fucking hurts, I get it! The world is shit! But some people aren’t, and some things aren’t, and Joe wasn’t, and by God, I’m not going to let you act like this when I know how much you meant to him!”

This dragged a small noise from Tom, helpless and broken. Leslie fixed him with an intense stare and Tom started to cry again. He’d cried so much over the last few days he didn’t know he was capable of more, but here was the proof.

Leslie softened at Tom’s tears. “He wanted the world for you.”

Will was at the door, his gaze passing from Tom to Leslie, then focusing back in on Tom.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “What’d he say to you?” 

“It’s nothing,” Tom replied, quickly. He sat up and grabbed the clothes, trying to stop crying. 

“Tom,” Will started, taking a step toward him.

“I’m going to take a bath,” Tom said, cutting him off and trudging out of the room. The worst part was knowing that Leslie was right. He knew that Joe wouldn’t want him to hurt. He knew that if Joe had been given a choice, between Tom’s life or his, this is what he would have wanted. But it still fucking hurt.

Tom felt better after the bath. Not healed, but better. And he was hungry, properly hungry for the first time in days. After he went back into the main room, Leslie pushed a plate of food in front of him, and Tom took it without complaint. As they ate, there was some sort of unspoken agreement, a bond of sorts that seemed to slowly seep into them. 

A truce. They had both lost Joe, and they were both now forced to go on without him. 

Leslie became Tom’s friend after that. He was blunt all the time and an asshole most of the time, but he had a quick wit and a sarcasm that seemed to flow well with Will and Tom. Well, mostly Tom—Will didn’t have much of a taste for Leslie, but they at least avoided any conflicts. 

And, most of all, Leslie had skill. He knew how to hunt just as well as Joe had, and he furthermore knew how to set up traps to protect them. He knew a good deal of which plants were edible, and he constantly coached Tom and Will on this knowledge. 

Finding food was no longer a problem—Leslie had already had a good deal of food with him, and with his added skills it just meant that they had more. They went out for food consistently now, in safer places than the city.

Leslie had obviously cared about Joe, and he often asked Tom for stories about him, which Tom provided when he could. When it wasn’t too much to talk about him.

Even though smaller things like love and romance seemed insignificant, as Tom recovered it soon became clear that he didn’t know where he stood with Will. There were still smaller signs, soft squeezes of the hand, thumb brushing over the cheek. But not kissing.

He had gotten used to sleeping in Will’s bed as his nightmares had gotten worse and worse. Before Joe’s death, they had been bad. After, they were so much worse. A recurring one he’d often have was that he was back at the grave, and as he looked at it, the ground split beneath him. He’d stumble back, fall and scramble away, watching helplessly as Joe’s decaying, rotten body would climb out. No matter what he did, no matter if he fought or ran or closed his eyes, the ending would always stay the same—Joe’s hand closing over his throat, a skeletal smile on his ghastly face.

“Look what you’ve done,” he’d say, and Tom would wake, shivering, still able to feel the hands on his throat.

The first time that had happened, he had been so scared that he’d found himself at Will’s door, still trembling. Will was drowsy with sleep, but he took one look at Tom’s face and let him in, and Tom didn’t feel quite so scared with Will’s arms around him. 

It became a nightly thing, even when the nightmares lessened and faded away. 

It was funny, because with all the bad luck they’d had, they found Eleanor. Or, she’d found them. As it turned out, she’d been a part of Leslie’s group, but had split off about a month before Joe passed. When Leslie had left his camp and Joe’s grave, he’d left a note for anyone trying to find him, telling them where he’d gone and how to get there. And so, one night as they were eating dinner, Eleanor showed up at their door.

“Jesus,” Will said, and she had rushed to hug him. 

“Lauri?” she asked breathlessly. Will’s face had gone cold, and he’d shaken his head.

“I could feel it,” she said, almost too soft to hear. “It was like one day I just woke up and knew.”

“I’m sorry,” Will said. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied. 

Will looked as if he didn’t quite believe her.


	9. Chapter 9

One evening, Tom went to sit outside among the grass and watch the sunset. He could tell Will wanted to come but didn’t want to intrude, so Tom invited him. They sat there like that, in the peace of the crisp evening, just watching the orange sky slowly fade into blue.

 _Joe would have liked it here_ , Tom thought, settling into the peace of it. The thought stung, but contained a fondness, an amount of acceptance. If Joe was not here to enjoy it, Tom would have to do it for him. 

He looked over at Will, who was running his hands through the grass, a bit of hair falling into his face. Tom scooted closer and brushed it out of Will’s eyes, because he wanted to, because he wanted to resolve all the confusion and tension there was between them now.

Will looked startled at the contact, and there was a moment as they looked at each other before Will dropped his eyes back to the grass, letting out a shuddering sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” he requested, and Tom gave him a soft smile, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Anything,” he said, but he was afraid of what Will might ask.

Will let a bit of longing enter his expression, and he hesitantly rested his hand on Tom’s knee.

“Where are we, Tom?” he asked. 

Tom’s brow furrowed, then he let his confusion melt into a teasing grin, fuller and genuine this time.

“What do you mean?” he asked, “We’re at Sanctuaire, aren’t we?” 

Will laughed a bit, but shook his head and his expression went anxious again. “I mean us, Tom. Where are _we_?”

Tom thought for a moment. “We’re wherever you want us to be,” he replied. He reached down to Will’s free hand and took it, but Will didn’t quite look satisfied with his answer.

“I want to know where _you_ want us to be,” Will said. “I want to know what _you_ want. I mean, you must know what I want, but after everything with Joe, I just… I want to know you’re comfortable. I want you to know that you don’t have any obligation to be with me, or-”

“I want _you_ ,” Tom said plainly, squeezing Will’s hand. “I want us to be where we were before it all got like this.”

“Then you have it,” Will responded, and Tom smiled genuinely at him this time. Will brushed a strand of hair out of Tom’s face, pressing a tender kiss to Tom’s forehead.

Tom dreamed of Joe that night. 

_They were home. Mum was in the kitchen, baking honey cakes, and Joe was at the windowsill, looking out. Tom was sat at the table, and when he saw both of them, he stared._

_Joe looked back, noticing Tom’s expression and giving him a crooked grin, tousling his hair._

_“Tom,” he said, fondly. “I’ve missed you.”_

_Tom hesitated, trying to remember how he’d gotten here. “But… but-”_

_“But what?” his mother asked warmly, setting a slice of cake in front of him. She gave his shoulder a squeeze, comforting, and Tom mourned the loss when she let go, watching her return to the kitchen._

_“But you’re dead,” Tom said, bluntly. “You’re gone.”_

_Joe shook his head, his expression suddenly solemn._

_“Dead, yes,” he said, “But not gone. I’m in everything around you, Tom. In the clouds you and I used to make shapes out of. In the water, the rivers like we used to swim in. The cherry trees, like the ones you and I used to pick. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”_

_“No,” Tom said, and Joe was smiling again._

_“Then I’m not gone. And neither is Mum.”_

_Tom was crying. He hadn’t realized it until his mother had come out of the kitchen again, and wiped the wetness from his face._

_“Don’t cry, my love,” she said._

_But Tom couldn’t stop. “I don’t- I don’t want to go on without you,” he said, and the pain in his chest was so much that he could hardly bear it. “I can’t!”_

_“You’re not without us,” his mother reminded him. “Never without us. Dead, but not gone. Remember that.”_

_And then Lauri was there, her fond smile spreading across her face as she knelt and pinched his cheek._

_“I’m sorry, chouchou,” she said softly. “I wish I hadn’t had to go so soon.”_

_She wrapped Tom in a hug so warm that it seemed to melt all the ice in his chest, all the pain fading into a strange calm._

_Then she pulled away and nodded at his bracelet._

_“A piece of me,” she said. “Never gone. Tell me you understand.”_

_Tom nodded. “I understand,” he said, and he did._

_“Good,” she said. “Then you have all you need.”_

And suddenly everything was fading, and Tom was gripping the table, _no, no, no,_ he didn’t want to go back, but he was in his own bed again and Will was stirring at his movement and he was crying, and he ached. Will held him, unquestioning, and Tom didn’t know if he could have explained it, anyway. After a while, he felt he’d better try, at least. 

“I saw Joe,” he said softly.

“Again?” Will asked, looking concerned. “Like the others?”

“No,” Tom said, with a slight shake of his head. “Not a nightmare.”

Will waited for more, and Tom took a shuddering breath.

“I was home,” he said, “And it was him and my Mum, and… and Lauri. They were all there.”

“What happened?” Will asked.

Tom shook his head. He didn’t know how to explain.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we-”

“They said they weren’t gone,” Tom cut in. “They- they told me they’re not gone.”

Will was silent, but Tom caught a flash of emotion on his face.

“They can’t stop the sun from shining,” Will said, almost inaudible. Tom looked to him for an explanation, and Will let out a soft sigh and pressed a kiss to Tom’s forehead.

“A few days after you and I met, I dreamed about Lauri,” he explained. “And, it was half a nightmare. But when it wasn’t, she said things like that. That they couldn’t stop the sun from shining, even now. That she wasn’t gone, and that I’d see that once I had washed it off my hands.”

Will choked up, and Tom reached for his hand and squeezed.

“Washed what off your hands?” he asked gently.

“I—it was blood and dirt in the dream,” Will explained, “But I think she meant guilt. I always blamed myself for what happened, I mean, if I’d just gotten there a little sooner-”

“It’s not your fault, Will,” Tom said. “Even Eleanor doesn’t think it is.”

Will tucked his face into his hand and cried, the sobs wracking through his shoulders. Tom rubbed his back, small, gentle movements that he hoped provided comfort.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated. He sat there until Will’s crying had softened, until there were only the aftershocks of sobs choking their way through Will’s chest.

“I miss her,” Will said, sighing. “Lauri. Even now, I miss her.”

“I know,” Tom said. “I know.”

And Will drew his hand from his face and took Tom into his arms.

* * *

The cherry trees bloomed the next morning _._ Tom took the soft petals into his hand and looked up at the sky, the clouds, thought of the river. Looked at the bracelet on his hand.

Will was there, hesitant, staring out at the view beyond them. He placed a hand on Tom’s back, his gaze lingering on Tom’s bracelet too.

“Not your fault,” Tom reminded him, and Will nodded, interlacing their fingers.

“Not my fault,” he repeated. 

Tom looked down at the petals in his free hand, sighing.

“Not gone,” he said softly.

“Not gone,” Will echoed.

Tom released the petals from his hand, into the breeze. They both watched as the blossoms drifted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far, I appreciate it more than words can express. This work really contains my blood, sweat, and tears, and I'm very, very proud of the finished product. This has been my baby for months and months, and I honestly can't believe it's done. I think I'll grieve over it for a few days- post fic depression. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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